The Jabbercock (reading 2)
Slipath follies and gogeth kooks, his hole weld thus defined.
As his high topery shreaks, zensith becomering hard to find.
Throu toves of hungish quate are bungles of hungish made.
Throu his spillath and yomps, mi patyance is soonley slade.
This gargeth foollie, this bag of bloate, this jabber bunnie.
This touken volume, this mastiffe cock, this listless runnie.
Howarth you stive, your spillath causering oargles to bleed.
Howarth you stive, your spillath causering all to take heed.
The timbre is hair and samethink muste soon be doone.
The flair ripe for change and now gour mument has come.
The hoardes now clabeth, these throngs now take stock.
Slice your mongue, shoot your mooth, mastiffe Jabbercock.
Makes me think that ...
How many of us have worked with or dealt a Jabbercock and felt unable to give expression to all we felt. The Jabbercock by Loot may help in future.
More people are writing and thinking about work-based poetry. Does this poem make you think of anything? Send your thoughts to email@example.com.
Send a poem you've written or one you like and we'll share it with other WorkInWords readers.